Silent I
by Bitter Red Irony
Summary: First installment of the Silent Trilogy. They came in everyday, ordered the same drinks and sat in silence... HGDM


**Silent**

I watched them as they sat in silence; they came in everyday, ordered the same drinks and sat in silence together. The girl was slender, she had olive skin and wore stylish but sometimes plain clothes; she had curly chestnut brown hair that was tied loosely at the nape of her neck with a red ribbon. She had a gentle face that was made for smiling and laughter, but she never did either here.

He was a tall, well built man, whose broad shoulders enhanced the cut of his expensive suits and shirts. He had a hard face, sculptured and elegant but cold and aloof. His hair was platinum blond and hung below his shoulders tied with a black ribbon that stood in harsh contrast to the paleness of his hair.

They were an odd pair.

They arrived each morning when the café first opened. The woman would arrive first, smile kindly at the person behind the counter but wouldn't say anything or initiate conversation. She would take her seat next to the window near the back of the shop and wait.

She never had to wait long, he would arrive moments later ignoring everyone else and sliding into the chair opposite the woman. They were never seen speaking, they did not chatter merrily over their coffees like regular customers, she would fiddle with the foam on her cappuccino and sip it cautiously; whilst he would swirl his latte around in its glass watching the smooth liquid with near fascination before downing it all in one swallow before he left.

They did not smile at each other.

Or laugh.

Or talk.

Or touch.

Or seem to do anything other then sit and drink their coffees in a stony silence.

She had a wedding ring on; a simple gold band with three rubies along the top. She often fiddled with it as she waited, but once the man arrived she seemed to forget she wore it at all.

He had a gold ring; he wore it on his little finger of his right hand. It was large but strangely elegant; it had a crest of some sort with a brilliant emerald in the centre. It seemed so much a part of him that you would not notice it; if it wasn't for the fact the emerald shone brightly as it caught the morning light when he lifted his drink to his lips.

He had a tattoo. I had seen it once, on a hot day a few months back. He rolled up his sleeves and I caught a flash of black of his forearm. The woman noticed it too; she looked at it intently before he managed to meet her eyes. She looked down at the table and refused to look at him again. She left soon after.

That was one of the only times she ever left before him.

He had crossed his arms defensively over his chest and stared at the table top. He left as well after a while of silence. His latte remained untouched.

The staff liked to talk about the couple, they made up romantic tales of forbidden love and deep desire, they were the most interesting people that came in -despite the fact they ordered the same thing every day and often left half full glasses.

But they did always leave a large tip. The man payed, they didn't seem to need to say anything.

It was like clockwork, she arrived, he arrived they sat in silence, he left leaving money on the table, she sat for a moment more before she herself left. Although there were the rare occasions when she left first, but other wise it remained the same.

I found a strange coin at their table once, it was small and silver, and shone on the flat of my hand, I kept it in my apron pocket for good luck, and neither noticed it was missing.

She broke down one day. As they sat in silence she started to cry. She buried her face in her hands with her elbows on the table, her fingers dug painfully into her hair.

She didn't cry loudly, in fact I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been watching.

That was the first time they spoke. He reached across the table and pulled her hand away from her face and towards the tabletop. Effortlessly he removed her wedding ring and laced their fingers together.

He murmured things to her from across the table; I couldn't get closer to hear without being obvious.

He raised their clasped hands to his lips and kissed each of her fingers gently, still speaking softly between each kiss; he then placed a tender kiss on the palm of her hand rubbed it gently with his thumb.

She had smiled forlornly as she watched him, before saying something back which made him smile sadly back. No it wasn't a smile, not really. It was a cool tilt of his lips and a look in his eyes.

He left soon after, downing his drink and leaving money on the table; she stared out the window for a minute more before drinking the rest of her coffee and gathering her bag from the seat next to her and left.

Her wedding ring remained on the table where the man had placed it.

Then one day he arrived before her. He walked slowly and had a slight limp in his leg that was barely noticeably; he carried an elegant black walking stick with an intricate silver handle, it seemed to make no noise at all as he made his way across the crowded cafe. He looked like he did ever other day, except his eyes were more haunted and the black ribbon that tied his hair back was replaced with a red one.

He sat in their usual seat and stared out the window blankly. After a few minutes he looked towards the counter and raised and elegant eyebrow. I brought the two coffees to him without question.

The woman never arrived. But he seemed to know she wouldn't. He placed his elbows on the table clasping his hands and rested them against his chin almost as though he was praying, except for the harsh set of his jaw and his eyes staring coldly at her coffee on the other side of the table.

He returned each day. Always sitting in the same spot and always leaving his and her drink untouched.

After a while I approached the man. He glanced up at me briefly but otherwise didn't acknowledge my presence. I felt like I should say something; ask him where she went, tell him everything was going to be alright, _something_. But I didn't. instead I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out the wedding ring that I picked up off the table so long ago.

The man looked at the simple ring sitting on the clean table top. A small smile graced his face, full of sadness and longing. He picked it up after a while, tracing the small band with the side of his thumb.

He looked at the corner of the table on her side, staring at it intently although I think he was really lost in his own head, maybe buried in memories, he fiddled with the ring carefully, letting his elegant fingers circle the band and letting it dance over his fingertips in a complex dance that only he knew. He sat like that for a long time before getting up and slipping the ring into his breast pocket.

He never came back, but we always left that table unfilled.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything from Harry Potter.

**A/N** I can't decide whether to leave it as this or perhaps putting a chapter each for Draco and Hermione's point of view.

Please review

Cheers


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